Westeros High
by rocknrollneverforgets
Summary: High School AU. Westeros High likes to advertise itself as 'the best secondary school around' (and they're probably right, seen as the nearest one is Flea Bottom High). Head Teacher Mace Tyrell is keen to boast of their last Ofsted report, especially to chemistry teacher Tyrion Lannister, who is on the verge of slipping some hydrochloric acid into his boss' new flask.
1. Good Morning Little School Girl

**Disclaimer: **GRRM owns everything.

Sansa

Sansa's alarm was unceremoniously loud at 6:30 in the morning. Of course, she hadn't really needed to set it for that time, but she was terrified of being late on her first day. High school. Just thinking about it made Sansa feel ill. Through her dreams of better looking boys, good grades and enthralling lessons, she'd not stopped to consider the downsides of beginning high school.

It hadn't occurred to her that she would be among the smallest in the school, as she'd purchased her new elite stationary. It hadn't occurred to her that she was going to be given homework every day, as she'd decided on hairstyles for a good first impression. It hadn't occurred to her that she might be separated from her friends, as she'd carefully stored her lunch in the fridge the night before. There were a lot of things that hadn't occurred to her.

Ideally, she'd have been able to look to her two older brothers in year ten for support. Honestly though, Sansa could not quite believe anyone could ever be so naïve as to believe her brothers were apt for offering any kind of support. Robb and Jon. Jon and Robb. There never seemed to be one without the other.

She didn't feel she could ask Jon. She and Jon were not close. He was only her half-brother, she knew, he had no Tully blood in him. Perhaps that was why he was slight and fast, where Robb was stocky and strong. Respectively, this had led to Jon taking the athletics track, with Robb being more inclined towards violent games of rugby. Speaking of Robb, his 'support' had been so discouraging, Sansa rather wished that she _had _gone to Jon.

Ever amused with himself, as a teenage boy has no right to be, Robb clearly relished in telling her the horrors of 'big school'. He spoke of running round the cross-country track at eight in the morning, freezing cold and soaking wet. He spoke of the race for the stairs to get out of lessons, and of people he knew that had broken bones in the commotion.

At eleven years old and every inch the little lady, Sansa was horrified by this. She had gone to their Mother in tears, and Robb was later made to apologise, sporting a thoroughly impatient expression. But he had apologised. Arya had laughed for ages, until she was quite red in the face. She thought lowly of her sister, especially when she cried. Arya didn't seem to believe in crying.

But Sansa could not help it. She was going to a new place for the first time, and the aching desire for everything to go perfectly fuelled her resolve to pull herself from under the covers. She would feel a million times better if fully ready with time to spare. Though as long as she was ready before Robb and Arya, she ought to be on time.

She showered brusquely; letting the warm water wash over her face and hoping it would also wash away her nerves down the plughole. It would not do to be a shivering wreck on her first day, Sansa knew. _If I go in and cry, I shall never make any friends_, she thought.

But as much as she tried to convince herself everything would be fine, Sansa was still jittery and out of sorts. She re-brushed her parting at least six times; dissatisfied with the way it fell. However carefully she knotted her new tie, it just didn't seem to look right. She was dropping everything, only adding to her frustration as she had to stoop to pick them up. When she finally got down to the kitchen for breakfast, she felt like screaming, and wondered how many plates she would drop if she thought of having toast.

Despite her qualms that the little delays were making her late, Sansa was the first to the table. Arya was watching TV, Power Rangers or something of the sort. Above the explosions from the 'action sequences' on screen, Sansa could hear her Mother upstairs, consoling a squalling Rickon.

Bran was soon to appear, clutching his newest Lego men in hand. It did not take long for him and Arya to begin squabbling over the remote. Bran wanted to watch Deadly 60, whilst Arya complained it was boring. As usual, Arya triumphed, and Bran looked sulky, though Sansa knew he had no problem with Power Rangers really.

Sansa's Father was next to emerge. Ned Stark was a serious man, and any one of half a brain knew not to cross him. However, though just and firm, Ned was also honourable and caring, and he loved his family deeply. He smiled at Sansa as he sat down, his eyes crinkling pleasantly. "Ready for your first day?" He asked.

Sansa tried to sound confident in her reply, but was certain she'd sounded more like an overexcited mouth. Ned chuckled, which was a warming sound, even if it was at Sansa's expense. "You'll be fine. Don't believe those horror stories Robb's told you. High school will be some of the best years of your life! I still remember mine like I was there yesterday."

Sansa nodded, electing not to point out how Ned had joined his high school with his best friend, Robert Baratheon, in a remote area where all the children where in the same class anyway. His school probably hadn't even had stairs.

At that moment, Jon chose to enter the kitchen, his hair already tamed. Jon always seemed to be efficient, and Sansa wondered if it was a trait only the two of them shared. Arya was far too wild for organisation, Bran and Rickon were too young, and Robb… well, Robb had managed to lose four school ties just last year, to put it mildly.

As the three of them made amiable conversation, Sansa began to overlook her fears, and tried to focus on the positives. "Is talking allowed in classes?" She wondered aloud. Jon and Ned both laughed loudly at that. "It's not the Hitler Youth, Sansa." Jon explained, still smiling. Sansa smiled and nodded in understanding, though she had no idea what the Hitler Youth might be.

After looking up the weather for the morning as was his custom, Ned stood up to leave. He kissed Sansa on the forehead with a smile. "Have a good day. I'm sure it will be fine!" His expression was sincere, which made Sansa feel a little better, and she replied: "I hope so. Bye Dad, have a good day at work!" The others shouted their respective farewells too, though Arya's and Bran's were distracted: Power Rangers was at its most exciting.

Jon looked up from his toast and laughed, saying: "What time do you bet it is before Catelyn drags Robb out of bed?" Sansa giggled, imagining how many different directions Robb's curls would be pointing. She hadn't seen him on a morning all summer; it was going to be a refreshing view.

"A fiver on half past eight!" Arya yelled, even though she was only across the room: the ground floor was open plan. "We have to be in school by twenty five past at the latest!" Sansa was aghast. Jon chuckled. "Do you have a fiver to give me, little sister, because I think it's going to be right about… now." He snapped his fingers.

And sure enough, even though Robb's room was in the attic, they could all hear the muffled sound of: "No Mum, get out, m'tired…" this was closely followed by: "Robb Stark! I have had just about enough of this! It seems as if you slept all through the holidays, there is absolutely no way you can still be tired. I'm not having it." Robb's grunts could then be heard as Catelyn attempted to remove him from the bed forcefully. With Robb weighing somewhere around the eleven to twelve stone area, Sansa doubted the likelihood of Catelyn succeeding in her task, but applauded her effort all the same.

All four of them downstairs dissolved into giggles, which quickly absolved as Catelyn marched into the kitchen looking murderous. "Morning Mum!" Arya tried, in a bright tone. Catelyn took one look at her and sighed. "Arya! What are you doing? You're supposed to be at band practice in ten minutes! Go get dressed!" Arya looked annoyed as she dragged herself off the sofa and sloped out of the room, muttering about how much she hated band.

Jon got up quickly, and with a sheepish look he left the room as quietly possible. Sansa knew it was to avoid disapproving looks from Catelyn: she had never liked him. Sansa continued to eat her coco pops carefully; she wasn't going to spill chocolate milk all over her freshly ironed shirt.

When Robb finally got down to the kitchen, Sansa felt like laughing all over again, but she decided against it for the daggers Catelyn was staring. He'd not made any effort to start getting ready whatsoever, and still looked half asleep. Sansa was especially impressed by the way every one of his curls seemed to manage to stick up in a different direction. His Star Wars t shirt was crumpled from sleep, but at least Darth Vader looked more awake than Robb did.

Catelyn was seething. "How can you not have done anything?" She hissed. "I woke you up ten minutes ago! And I've told you to put some trousers on when you come downstairs; no one wants to see that much of you!" Robb seemed not to notice his Mother's wrath, and just yawned and rubbed his eyes.

Though it was funny, Sansa did share Catelyn's thoughts on Robb's boxers, and averted her eyes as she left the room to go back upstairs. _My makeup has to be perfect, _she told herself. A good first impression was everything, she knew, her Mother had taught her that. If she looked awful on her first day, she'd have no friends for the rest of the year, God forbid.

When satisfied that her foundation was even and her mascara looked as if she had none on, Sansa was ready to go. She grabbed her new, expensive bag and admired herself in the mirror. _I look good_, she decided. _I'd want to be friends with me. _

Going down the stairs, she was almost knocked over by Arya, who was yelling: "I DON'T WANT TO GO TO BAND! I HATE THE BLOODY FLUTE AND WHY DOES IT HAVE TO BE BEFORE SCHOOL ANYWAY, I'VE GOT BETTER THINGS TO DO!" Sansa rolled her eyes at her sister's protests. Arya really had no talent for music, she preferred football. Sansa, on the other hand, was exceptional at the violin, which she prided herself on. She tried not to laugh as she listened to Catelyn yell back at Arya for using 'such obscene language, for an eight year old'. Still though, Sansa knew Jon would get the blame for that, even if it was probably Robb's fault. Catelyn always blamed Jon.

With a graceful wave, she skipped out of the house, and was pleased to find her friend Jeyne already waiting for her. "Are you excited?" Jeyne asked her incredulously, with a trembling lip. Sansa considered for a moment, and then decided she was going to laugh in her brother' faces (though not literally). "Yes." She replied. "I think I am."

**A/N: **The characters are how they are at the start of the series – before they've undergone any development. So Sansa is still, well, like that. Also, it's the British school system, for anyone confused, so eleven year old Sansa is starting year seven, fourteen year old Robb and Jon are starting year ten, and the others are still at primary school.


	2. Rock N' Roll High School

**Disclaimer: **GRRM owns everything.

Jon

The first day back was always hectic, but Jon was sort of glad to be back. They'd had a good summer, and it'd been fun in France, but he was beginning to tire of Catelyn's disapproving looks, day in and day out. It was a relief to be somewhere she wasn't – for now at least.

Soon though, Jon started to change his mind in the assembly. They had to sit in forms, so he wasn't near Robb. Just as well probably, Robb looked like he was about to fall asleep on Margaery Tyrell's shoulder. She was inching away, slowly.

Jon was lucky in his form though, and was pleased to be sat next to his friend: Sam. Grenn and Pyp were together as well, only a few rows behind, and Jon could hear them arguing from his seat. Sam groaned as the slide started up. "I bet it's going to be about 'never giving up' or something else that's not motivational in the slightest." Jon chuckled, knowing Sam was right. He didn't think he'd ever been to an assembly that _hadn't _made him want to throw himself off the roof of the science block.

How Mace Tyrell had got the position of head teacher, Jon would never know. Poor Margaery, always looking mortified during his speeches; especially if he mentioned her. Westeros High was the only half decent school around though, and a lot of the kids had parents who were teachers. His father's business partner (but really boss), Robert Baratheon, had a son in year eight, and Jon knew that Robert's wife's brothers both taught here.

Speaking of, Jon had heard there was a new P.E teacher, and was really hoping it would be his. He didn't think he could stomach another year of Mr Lannister showing off how fast he could run, how accurately he could shoot, how excellently he could catch…

As predicted, the assembly was draining. Jon ever marvelled at just how many different ways the teachers could find to tell them _exactly the same thing. _On the plus side, the other Mr Lannister also looked to be falling asleep on his brother's shoulder.

Afterwards, they all went straight to forms. From day one, Mr Thorne had had a particular hatred for Jon that Jon had no trouble reciprocating, and so it had continued. It was a constant mystery as to why Thorne had become a teacher, considering his absolute abhorrence for children.

"Stark!" He barked, when Jon came up to collect his timetable. "Straighten your tie!" Trying not to glare at the resentful teacher, Jon did so; he had learned not to rise to it. He _knew _his tie was straight. It was certainly straighter than Rast's, who came up behind him, but Thorne said nothing to him. Though Rast had no love for Jon either, and Jon had always wondered if Thorne was purposefully nice to Rast. Well not wondered. It was fairly obvious.

When he got back to his desk and looked at his timetable, he groaned. "I got Mr Lannister again!" Sam raised his eyebrows. "I thought you said he was a decent teacher?" Jon rolled his eyes. He _had _said that. "Well yeah, but if I have to watch him do another one handed press up, I swear to God…" Sam laughed.

"You've got other Mr Lannister for chemistry." Sam pointed. "Lucky. I've got Pycelle." Jon grinned. "Have fun in set one." Sam looked thoroughly annoyed: he'd had Mr Lannister last year, who was known for making jokes and having 'feasts' to celebrate the end of the week. Jon was pleased though, having Pycelle would've been torture.

He bade Sam goodbye before the main corridor, and walked off to the changing rooms, silently cursing Mr Lannister. Worse, it was starting to rain. Hopefully though, Lannister wouldn't want to ruin his hair any more than Jon wanted to spend the whole day soaked to the skin. _Vanity has its benefits, _Jon thought, grimly.

He flung open the changing room door, only to be welcomed by being crashed into by what felt like a boulder. And the boulder didn't get off him either. Robb's grinning face appeared in the rain. "Stark, Stark, Stark!" He chanted, and slapped Jon's shoulder. "You're late."

"My apologies. Could you get off me? You weigh a bleeding ton!" Robb laughed, and dragged Jon to his feet. "You'd not be complaining if I told you Grenn was going to ambush you instead." Jon could see his point there. Grenn was bigger than any of the kids in their class, and ten times stronger. And Jon had never been widely built. "I would've been crushed." He smiled.

"I heard that!" Yelled Grenn, from inside.

"I'm soaked to the bone." Robb complained, flicking a wet curl in Jon's face. "This is your fault, why are we outside?" Jon just looked at him until he held up his hands. "Alright fine, my fault. But let's go inside."

Mr Lannister strolled in just in time to catch Grenn firing a coin at Robb's knuckles. He waited patiently for the pound to slam into one of the already present cuts on Robb's hand and the plucked the coin from the table, shaking his head. "If you want to save yourself some pain Stark, I'd avoid playing a game you obviously have a distinct lack of talent for, judging from the state of your hands." Robb scowled, and cursed under his breath.

"I'll take this to prevent any further… injuries." The P.E teacher grinned, slipping the coin in to his pocket. He ran a hand through his annoyingly bright golden hair and scanned the room. "Alright. Who've I got this year?"

He cast Robb and Grenn a disdainful look first. "Grenn. Stark. Stark number two. Two Starks? Lord help me." Jon rolled his eyes as the teacher proceeded around the rest of the room. He'd already had just about enough of Mr Lannister's 'wit'.

"Alright, listen up. We'll just do something basic today, seen as it's the first day back. The field's empty, so I'm thinking cross country." There was a noticeably loud groan from the more powerfully built students in the class, especially Grenn. Jon was fast, he knew that, but he had absolutely no idea to go running around in the rain. "Sir, it's chucking it down!" He complained, to murmurs of agreement from the rest of the class.

Unsurprisingly, Mr Lannister did not look swayed. "It is, Mr Stark. As you no doubt know, seen as there is no possible way you and your brother could have got yourselves so soaked just from the walk here. It must have been a choice, right?"

Jon just nodded meekly, silently cursing the golden haired bastard. _Bet he brings an umbrella out with him, _Jon thought bitterly. He cast Robb a venomous look, it was_ his _fault they were both sick. His brother had the good graces to not meet his eye, in shame, Jon hoped. He'd knock a few more coins into his brother's knuckles for that.

Pretty soon, they were all running round the track, and Jon wasn't sure if the moisture all over him was sweat or rain. He was soaked to the bone, and ready to throttle the cocky teacher, who would wave at the class every now and again from under his large umbrella. Jon knew he wasn't faring half as bad as some of the other kids though. He'd already lapped Grenn and a few others, and he could see more coming up in front of him.

The rain had brought on an early morning mist that made it near impossible to tell who was who from afar, but Jon would've recognised that auburn shock of curls anywhere. He grinned, knowing he was going to lap his brother and rub it right in. Robb didn't have much of a natural talent for running, and he was moving slowly: it was easy to gain on him. It was in times like these that Jon was glad of his smaller, slimmer build.

He gave Robb a hard shove as he passed him. Not expecting it, Robb yelped, and almost toppled over. "Oy!" He yelled, trying to regain his pride. "If that was you Jon, I swear to God I'll…"

"You'll do what, Stark?" Jon laughed, jogging backwards to further infuriate the other Stark. "You'd have to catch up with me first!" Robb growled, but Jon knew he had nothing to throw at him, or he would've been less free with his jibes. With nothing to do but pant after Jon, Robb was hilarious to watch. The rain had plastered his curls to his forehead, along with his shirt to his chest. He was bright red from the running, and breathing heavily.

"You fucking wait Stark!" Robb yelled. "You wait 'til rugby season!" He seemed to have given up on catching up with Jon, and was resorting to the threats. "I will!" Jon shouted back. "You can tell me all about it when I next lap you! _Stark!_" And with that, he turned and sped away, laughing.

He could still hear Robb's curses when he was halfway around the track from him, echoing through the wind. He smiled. Robb would get him later, but for now, he had the upper hand.

**A/N: **So just for the record, Jon is now Jon Stark because obviously, we don't have bastard names now.


	3. A Wolf At The Door

**Disclaimer: **GRRM owns everything.

Arya

The day had been boring. So boring, in fact, that Arya was almost overjoyed to get home and see her siblings. She would have to find some way to avoid Sansa's account of her first day at high school though. She knew for sure it would be about all the simpering little pals she had made, and all the good looking boys she had met.

Arya would rather shoot herself than listen.

She and Bran walked home together, deliberately making a wide arc around the playground. Neither of them had any wish to encounter their Mother, who would be picking up Rickon from nursery. Judging by Bran's comments on his day, his had been no more eventful, other than when his teacher had farted whilst demonstrating a forward roll.

"Do you wanna watch a film tonight?" Arya asked Bran. He considered for a moment.

"All five of us?" He had left out Rickon, both of them knowing the only thing their Mother would let him watch was In the Night Garden. "Yeah, why not?" Arya replied, with a shrug. Jon and Robb would want to listen to her sister just as little as she did, so they had a better chance of drowning her out.

"We'll never agree on a film." Bran shook his head. "Sansa'll want some soppy romance, like Titanic or Romeo and Juliet. Anything with Leonardo di Caprio really." Arya knew he was right there. Sansa had the most boring taste in films, and claimed action movies were 'violent and gory'.

"We'll just ignore her. I was thinking a horror movie." Arya grinned evilly, but Bran only shook his head again. "Mum'll never let us." He said. Arya sighed, unfortunately, this was also true.

"Well, I'm not watching Star Wars again; no matter how many times Robb claims it's a classic." She said, grumpily. Bran laughed – the whole household could probably quote the films (the original trilogy at least) back to front, from the sheer number of times they had been on in their home. "We won't let him." Bran replied. _No, _Arya thought, _and if he resists, I'll freeze _him _in carbonite._

"There's always The Avengers or something." Arya suggested. Bran grinned.

"Bingo!" He cheered.

When they arrived home, they found Jon on the sofa, watching Scrubs. She threw herself on the sofa next to him and hit him playfully in the side. "Good day, little sister?" He asked, ruffling her hair. She groaned dramatically. "Noooooo, it was _awful. _They made us do _sums._"

Jon laughed. "Unfortunately, little sister, that's what you do at school."

Arya grumbled. "Well, it's stupid. And boring." Jon just laughed at her, ruffling her hair again, which he always did. She and Jon had always been close. "Mum's baked cookies!" Bran shouted from the kitchen. "Want one?"

"Yeah!" Arya yelled back. "You?" She looked at Jon. He smiled sadly, his affectionate grin having slid off his face. "Better not." He said, quietly. His sad acceptance made Arya angry. Her Mother had always been cold towards him, and if he nicked a cookie along with them, he would get all the blame. She hated the way Catelyn acted towards Jon, she could see it in his eyes, it upset him, and she didn't like to see him upset. But she didn't want to get him in trouble, so she didn't pressure him to take a cookie.

"Where's Robb?" Bran asked, as he came in and handed a cookie to Arya, nibbling one of his own. Arya had been wondering that too: Jon and Robb would've been together if Robb were in, bringing her to the conclusion he was not presently home. Jon grinned again, somewhat maliciously. "He's got detention." He chuckled.

"Mum's not going to be happy." Bran commented, dryly. "First day back, and he's in detention already." Arya sniggered, imagining the infuriated expression on Catelyn's face as she lectured about the importance of behaviour. "What'd he do?" She asked.

"Not much." Jon rolled his eyes. "He was texting Theon in maths, which normally would've just got him his phone nicked, but we had Trant, who's a right cock."

"Are you going to tell Mum?" Arya asked. Jon looked uneasy.

"He told me he'd kill me if I told Catelyn…" he said. "He said to tell her he'd stayed for rugby, if she asked."

"She has both school schedules memorised back to front." Bran said calmly. "She _knows _rugby is on a Thursday."

"Plus she'll kill you if you lie to her." Arya cut in. "So solution: I'll tell her. You haven't broken your word to Robb, and Mum doesn't kill you. Excellent plan, I think." She sat back, grinning proudly. "Not like Robb's going to do anything to you anyway."

Jon made a 'tch' sound. "Nothing permanent, but he may possibly sit on my face and fart." Arya nodded. "Fair enough." She grinned.

Before Catelyn and Rickon arrived home though, Jon got a text from Robb, telling him to come down to the wood behind their block. He left quickly, desperate to be as far from a wrathful Catelyn as possible. _Both of my brothers hiding in the wood so they don't have to face her, _Arya thought, amused. _They're bloody cowards, the both of them._

When her Mum and Rickon did arrive home, the first thing she noticed was the missing cookies. "Those were supposed to be for tea." She complained, exasperated. "I made them specially!" Arya tried to look ashamed, whilst Bran was desperately avoiding eye contact. "Sorry Mum." She apologised.

"Where's Sansa and Robb?" Catelyn asked. From the sound of Capital blaring out from her bedroom, Arya guessed that Sansa was most definitely in, and of course, she knew where Robb was. "Upstairs, and in detention." She laughed.

Catelyn rolled her eyes. "What did he _do_?" She asked, surprisingly calm.

"Texting in lesson." Bran told her.

"Well at least he's not attacked anyone." Catelyn sighed, giving Arya a meaningful look, which she didn't quite get until Catelyn cleared her throat. "Aw Mum, come on, you said you understood why I did that! He was claiming girls can't hit hard!" Arya protested. She remembered punching the boy in the face vividly; it had been rather satisfying to shout: "Why are you crying? That can't of hurt, because girls can't hit hard!"

Despite her head teacher's lectures and punishments, Arya didn't regret it. Besides, her Father had looked rather proud, though he'd tried to conceal it, and Catelyn had been practically laughing. Sansa was the only one who'd reprimanded her for it. Robb gave her a clap on the shoulder, and Jon ruffled her hair and said: "Good job little sister."

She was brought back out of her fond memories to her Mother saying, "I'm going to go cook the tea. Do your homework." As soon as she had left the room, Arya and Bran looked at each other and laughed. Both of them had homework to write about their holidays, and neither of them intended to do it. Arya's teacher Mrs Smallwood was a pushover, and Mr Luwin like Bran too much to scold him.

So they just sat, watching TV and waiting for their food expectantly. Neither of them would go upstairs, because they wanted to watch Catelyn tell Robb off when he got home –it would be more entertaining than writing an account of 'not going up the Eiffel Tower because Dad couldn't be bothered to wait in the queue'.

But a few hours passed by, and Robb and Jon were still not home. Surprisingly, the next person to come moaning of their day through the door was Ned. He collapsed on the sofa next to Arya, muttering about how 'impossible Robert is to work with'.

He said that almost every day, Arya smirked. They were still best friends though, so clearly it was only friendly hatred. Also, her father would never quit the company, not in a million years. He earned far too much money from it.

Still though, she was not actually sure what her Father actually _did _for a living. He knew their company sold some kind of product, but she had absolutely no idea what it was. And as it seemed, neither did Robert Baratheon.

Arya had gleaned from his mutterings that her Father was in charge of advertising, and making sure the workers who actually made the product were happy. He also seemed to be in charge of staff, and making all the decisions. She wondered if there was actually anything he wasn't in charge of. The company may have been called Baratheon Industries, but it was fairly obvious that Robert had practically nothing to do with the running of his company. Whatsoever.

"Good day at school?" Ned finally asked, tiredly.

"Not really." Arya grimaced. He chuckled half-heartedly. "What are we watching?" He asked, after a few moments of silence. "Two and a Half Men." Bran replied, without taking his eyes off the screen. Ned yawned. "Shouldn't seven and eight year olds be watching Horrid Henry, or something?" He asked.

"No." Said Bran, with a finality that closed the question. But still, Arya felt the need to add, defensively: "The kid's channels are boring." Ned nodded. Arya doubted he would've been so accepting if he'd actually been paying attention, but never mind. He had no way of stopping them, really.

At that moment, the door crashed open, and in ran a breathless Jon. "Come look what Robb's found!" He shouted excitedly, and with that, he sprinted back out again, to the street. Her curiosity spiked, and Arya was up and instantly following him, flanked by an equally excited Bran. Their Father came too, looking confused.

The site that met them on the pavement was joyous. Robb was holding two baby husky dogs in his arms, and four more were gathered around his feet. They were all very small, with grey or black fur, save for one, which was snowy white and even smaller than the others.

Arya leapt on the puppies excitedly, quickly scooping up the one that came to her first. "That one's a girl." Robb grinned, nodding to the one she had picked up. "She tried to bite me when I first found them, so you'll get on just fine."

Arya ignored the jibe, and stared in wonder at the little dog. Its fur was unreasonably soft, and it had large eyes, that looked straight back at her. "She's mine." Arya said, staking her claim. Robb handed one of the pups he was holding to Bran, who cradled it lovingly, with the same wonder in his eyes that Arya felt. She had always wanted a dog, and now they had six! One for each of them.

"Now wait just a minute." Ned protested. "We're not having six dogs!"

All four children turned to him at once, with a moan in unison of: "Daaaaad!"

"You said we might be able to get a dog for my birthday!" Robb argued.

"They'll die without us!" Bran protested.

"We were _meant _to have them!" Jon emphasised.

"Look how _cool _they are!" Arya exclaimed.

Ned shook his head. "No. Six dogs are going to be much too expensive, and also, without a Mother, they'll probably die soon. It would be kinder just to send them to the vet."

"No!" They all cried.

"I won't let you!" Arya shouted, shielding her new friend with her skinny arms. "This is _my _dog now."

"Dad." Jon said. "Look. There are six dogs, four male, two female, one for each of us. And when you're talking about all that family history crap, you always make sure to include that hundreds of years ago, the Stark sigil was a wolf! Huskies are kind of like modern day wolves!"

"And don't pretend they're too expensive." Bran added. "I've seen your new suits; I know you're rolling in it." They all stood earnestly, clutching their respective dogs to their chests while the other two ran around their heels.

From the look on his face, Arya could see her Father knew he was defeated. "Fine." He said, with a sigh. "But you will feed them yourselves, you will train them yourselves, and if they die, you will bury them yourselves." And with that, he turned back to the house.

The four of them grinned excitedly at each other, too stunned at their good fortune to speak, and fantasising about how they would feed their new pets. Jon had taken the little white male for himself, and Robb held a male grey one, which was sniffing his hair. Bran's was also a grey male, nuzzling softly at his hand. But Arya liked hers the best.

"Do you think he will like Kit Kats?" Robb broke the silence.

**A/N: **So I've totally just realised that when I post the chapters on here, the lines get wider, so I have speech from different characters on the same line… I apologise. I know it's not right, but we're just gonna have to work with it.


	4. Fatal Attraction

**Disclaimer: **GRRM owns everything.

Sansa

The boy was golden haired, taller than even her brother Robb, though she knew he was two years younger. The golden locks curled around his ears, and his eyes were a deep, piercing green. He walked with a confidence she had never seen the like of before, and almost seemed to command loyalty from those around him.

Of course, she knew exactly who he was. Joffrey Baratheon was the son of her Father's best friend. But despite them also being business partners, the two families had yet to meet, something which Sansa now felt needed to be put right immediately.

She wondered if he knew who she was. If his father had ever described her, then she was not hard to pick out. Auburn hair was not so common as brown or blonde, especially auburn hair that curled as well as Sansa's did. It was pretty, and she knew it, as she flicked it over her shoulder whilst walking past Joffrey in the halls.

In her spare time (after she had done her homework, of course), she plotted how to get him to talk to her. She deemed it a better idea, not to involve her friends; they'd only giggle and swoon, making themselves looking immature and annoying, along with her.

It would not do to just go up to him, of course. Though she had perfect rights to go introduce herself to her Father's best friend's son, Sansa would never. She'd wait until he came to her, as she believed it should be.

"Sansa!" Mrs Mordane's sharp voice jolted her back from her dreams of Joffrey. Quickly, she rearranged her vacant expression to one of understanding, though she hadn't the faintest idea what Mrs Mordane might have said.

"You're not concentrating so well today." The old teacher remarked. "I expect this from Arya, but not you Sansa." Mrs Mordane had been coming to the house for years now, to teach the girls on their respective instruments. Sansa was skilled at the violin, whilst Arya physically detested the flute. She had been forced into the lessons by her Mother, who had said she 'would not have one of her girls grow up uncultured'.

Sansa thought that Catelyn may be slightly bias, having played the violin since she was a child. Arya had point blank refused the violin though, calling it 'scratchy and irritating' – which was why she'd ended up with the whistly little flute she so detested. Ned had been trying to convince his wife to let Arya give up for years, pointing out that her talents lay elsewhere, but Catelyn held fast.

And in the meantime, they all had to listen to the sound of Arya blowing raspberries down the flute in irritation, followed quickly by Mrs Mordane's angry reprimands. Robb had been the first to make the comment: "Maybe Arya should play heavy metal on the flute, then the old hag's screaming would blend right in." Sansa had agreed, though hadn't voiced it. In her worst moods, Mrs Mordane was unbearable, and Sansa sometimes felt like hitting her with the stupid horsehair bow she'd had to pay so much for.

The next day at school though, as she was complaining to Jeyne of Mrs Mordane, she was cut off by the glimpse of a golden head coming towards her. She needed to think of a way to talk to him, _fast. _Drop her bag?

No. Joffrey didn't seem the sort of person who'd stop to pick it up, more likely he'd step around her, irritated. And why shouldn't he be? She'd be irritated too if she had to wait for some younger kid to pick up their belongings in front of her. She needed a better plan than that.

She could take one of her own pens and pretend he'd dropped it, she supposed. But she still thought that seemed a little desperate. _At this rate, we'll both be ninety by the time I've thought of how to talk to him_, she thought darkly.

He was getting closer and closer to her, and her mind whirred, trying to recall every single rom com she'd ever seen. But luckily, she didn't need it. He stopped dead in front of her.

"You're Sansa Stark, aren't you?" He said, abruptly. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak without squealing in delight. _He knows who I am!_ "My Father told me you were pretty." He said. "I have to say, I don't agree with my Father often, but he was right there." Sasha blushed, and hoped desperately that she hadn't gone as red as her hair.

"Thank you." She said, resisting the extremely pressing urge to drop a little curtsey. _Don't be weird_, she scolded herself. _A boy in the year above just called you pretty for all your friends to hear, and you will not ruin it! _She gave him her prettiest smile, hoping it was not too much.

Slowly, he grinned. "Hey, walk with me." He invited her. Sansa obliged with no hesitation, wondering if they would eat lunch together and fall in love, much like in the movies she liked so much. "I'm surprised we've not been acquainted before." He told her. "My Father and yours have been friends for a very long time."

"Maybe we ought to suggest a restaurant?" Sansa replied, her confidence swelling with every step. Joffrey nodded. "My Mum likes that new one on Duskendale Street." He said. "I'll make a suggestion of it." Sansa nodded and smiled, as if in a dream. This was exactly what she had hoped for.

They talked for the length of the break, Joffrey introducing her to his friends, and her introducing him to Jeyne, who had followed. He told her of his interests (which included a whole lot of nothing, since Sansa had been too busy staring at his lips to listen) and his family (which she listened to a bit, and thought they sounded much more orderly than the Starks, so didn't counter with a description of her own family).

As break ended, Joffrey smiled at her as he stood up to leave. "See you later Sansa." He said. "Don't forget to suggest the restaurant." And with that he left for his lesson, leaving Sansa smiling so much her cheeks ached, and an open mouthed Jeyne.

She had _known _her and Joffrey would get along well. In Sansa's mind, they were just meant to be.

And in the coming weeks, she certainly started to feel even more strongly about it. Joffrey was courteous and smiling, but strong. He did not simper over her – he had to keep his pride. She did tell her she was pretty though, and she thought he was pretty too.

Predictably, her siblings noticed her new 'friend', and were scathing. Arya looked at his Facebook profile picture and laughed, saying his lips looked like two fat pigs. Sansa had got her own back for that though, slyly suggesting to their Mother that Arya 'really hadn't done enough flute practice recently'.

Robb had looked especially confused. "You're only eleven." He'd said. "It sounds like you're almost dating." His tone was almost accusatory, so Sansa decided not to bring Joffrey up in front of Robb again. He'd not had the chance to play the protective older brother yet, not that he was really the type. Unfortunately, the tone was more likely related to dislike for Joffrey, rather than dislike for Sansa having an 'almost boyfriend' – as Jeyne had taken to calling it.

When Joffrey did ask her out though, it was not nearly so romantic as she had hoped. She had dreamed of a kiss, maybe a present, or him taking her hands in hers. In reality, one day Joffrey said to her: "Do you wanna make this official?"

She told him yes, and told herself Joffrey would've looked stupid if he'd done it romantically. This wasn't a movie. She was being naïve to think of him as a little prince with golden curls. _He's a real person_, she told herself firmly, _and besides, there's lots of space left for being romantic._


	5. Welcome To The Jungle

**Disclaimer: **GRRM owns everything.

Daenerys

She'd never seen so many kids in one place. Having being home schooled out in the country side for her entire life, Daenerys was slightly intimidated by how _loud _everything was. On her way up to the head teacher's office, she had to duck out of the way of at least three little kids sprinting like their lives depended on it.

She hoped this school was going to be okay. Her brother, Viserys, had gone to a school round here until he was ten, before her Father had gotten into a disagreement with a teacher named Mr Lannister over her other brother, Rhaegar, and her and Viserys had been moved to the country.

Her Father was dead now though, not that she had ever known him. She had never known any of her family but Viserys, who did make the effort to act as the parents she didn't have. But Illyrio Mopatis was kind to them both, and she had grown up never wanting for much.

Dany's most desperate hope was that the education she had was up to date. She'd find it mortifying to be stuck in a class full of kids way smarter than her.

Speaking of being smart, she wasn't really getting that impression from her new head teacher. Mr Tyrell talked a big game, but all Dany had managed to glimpse so far was that he had a rather terrifying passion for golf.

She was brought out of her thoughts by him addressing her directly. "So Daenerys, is that all clear?"

_Clear as clouds, _she thought, moodily. "Perfectly Sir." She said, politely, wondering if she could leave now. She'd no desire to walk into a class late and have everyone's eyes on her. She was still wishing there hadn't been that mishap with her brother's bathtub, and then she would've been able to start at the start of the year. _Like normal people. _Not that she'd said that to Viserys though. He would've gotten angry.

"I've arranged for my daughter Margaery to give you the tour. If you have any questions, she'll be happy to answer them. She's only in the year above you, so I'm sure you'll get along nicely, she's a very nice girl of course, I'm very proud…" And on he went. He was a man who really did adore the sound of his own voice.

Thankfully, there was a knock on the door, and the monologue was brought to a halt. "Come in!" Mr Tyrell said, loudly. A pretty girl with brown hair stepped into the room, smiling widely. "Ah, here she is. Daenerys, this is Margaery." Dany smiled as the other girl greeted her, responding in as warm a tone as she could muster.

She was glad to leave the office, and even gladder to leave Mr Tyrell.

"I'm so sorry about my Dad." Margaery said, as soon as the door swung shut. "I know how he goes on. You must've been terribly bored."

Dany laughed. Clearly the head had a reputation. "I survived." She grinned, and Margaery laughed too. Dany wished Margaery had been a year younger. She liked her, and everything would've been so much better if she'd had a friend to walk into her first lesson with.

But Margaery wasn't a year younger, and Dany was going to have to deal with it.

They walked through the sea of moving bodies, Margaery pointing out each subject's block, the library, the toilets… She was just talking about which teachers to go too if in need of a spare tie/planner so that they wouldn't have a go, when she abruptly stopped talking.

A boy had run up to them, and was now stopped right in their path, bent over and panting. He'd obviously run from somewhere far away, judging by the sheer depth of his breaths. Margaery looked impatient, and made a move as if to step around him, but he threw up a hand and stopped her until he could speak.

"Can I… can I… maths… can I copy… homework…" That was what Dany heard, anyway, but Margaery seemed to know what he was saying, and didn't look impressed.

"No." She said, shortly, and tried to go around again, but he moved again to prevent it. "Why can't you just copy Jon's?" Margaery asked, waspishly.

"Hasn't… done it." He still panted, but Dany could see his breath was coming back. "Weren't… listening. Didn't even know there was… homework."

"That's a shame." Margaery said, sympathetically. "But still, no." Dany realised she had been being sarcastic, but expertly so.

"Margaeryyyyyyyyy!" The boy wailed in desperation. "Trant'll kill us!"

"And if I let you copy, he'll kill me! Don't you remember last time? You spilt your capri-sun all over my book! I mean, I got a detention because Trant didn't believe I'd done it over a capri-sun! A _capri-sun!"_ Dany tried not to laugh. She too, was partial to capri-suns.

Eventually, Margaery managed to wangle her way past the boy, and continue the tour. It was a shame really, Daenerys thought. He'd been quite cute looking, once the redness in his face had started to tone down.

"What was that about?" She asked Margaery, who rolled her eyes.

"He comes up with those _stupid _excuses all the time, but really he's just superbly lazy."

"Who is he?"

Margaery sighed. "Robb Stark. Star of the rugby field, not such a star in the classroom. You would've encountered him in one way or another soon anyway, the Starks are everywhere. There's eight of them."

"Eight?!" Daenerys was incredulous. She couldn't even dream of what it was like to have such a big family. All she could see was the noise.

"Yeah. The Dad co-runs Baratheon Industries, so I mean, they can afford for there to be eight of them. Fourteen now though I guess."

"Fourteen?!"

"Mm hm. Jon told me Robb found six huskies puppies in the wood, and now the kids have all got one each." Dany was instantly jealous of that. She'd always wanted a pet, but Viserys was less so inclined. He claimed he was above animals; who were dirty and smelly.

"How old is he?" Dany asked, before she'd even realised she had.

"Robb? Fifteen next week, as he keeps telling me. But if you've got a thing for him, I'd leave it." Margaery shook her head. Dany didn't have a 'thing' for him, but now she was intrigued. It seemed like Margaery was quite close to him, but at the same time… not at all.

"Why?"

Margaery grinned, evilly. "No experience." She laughed. "It's not like he's not had the chance. But him, and his brother Jon too, they just don't know what to do." Dany snorted, though she had trouble picturing the scene.

They finished up with the tour of the school, and Margaery took Dany to her first lesson: Business. She left her at the door with a large smile and a warm goodbye, which only left Dany wondering if she treated everyone that way. But still, she had bigger things to worry about than whether Margaery Tyrell actually liked her as a person.

Nervously, she pushed open the door.

As she'd feared, immediately the kids' eyes all snapped to her. She froze. She'd never been in this position before. Viserys had told her vicious tales of ordinary schools, but she hadn't believed him until now. She was suddenly conscious of everything. Every flyaway hair, every eyelash that could be stuck to the next, every blemish, just everything. It was awful.

The silence was unbearable, and Dany was so relieved to hear it broken she could've cried. A warm voice called out: "Hello! Are you Daenerys Targaryen?" She turned to face her teacher, nodding in as normal a way as possible, she hoped.

He was a large man, all muscle. He had dark hair and large features, and looked very strong to Daenerys. But he didn't look too mean, and his appearance almost soothed her, if only a tiny bit.

"Excellent!" He said. "I'm Mr Mormont. There's a seat over there by the window next to Emily." Meekly, Dany scuttled to her seat as fast as she dared, and felt the eyes slowly leave her, which was uplifting.

Viserys had always taught her to be small. He didn't like her to show off.

She didn't find Emily nearly as welcoming as Margaery, but she did suspect, Margaery had something of a natural talent for socialising. But Emily did smile at her, which was nice, she thought. Mr Mormont was nice too, luckily.

As first days go, Dany didn't think hers was going too bad. For now, anyway.


	6. Hit Me With Your Best Shot

**Disclaimer: **GRRM owns everything.

Tyrion

Tyrion almost sighed in relief as the bell rung. His year ten set two were draining at the best of times, and for some reason they were especially so today. It hadn't helped that he'd been teaching them about limestone, which no one – including him – found to be interesting. Limestone may be a very important building material, but that didn't stop Tyrion from wishing they could do the 'squeaky pop' experiment instead.

_Why did I become a teacher? _He thought, grimly.

The kid's rushed out of the room to break as quickly as possible, some of them shouting rushed goodbyes. Jon, one of the few students he did like, threw him a grin as he left the room with his friend Pyp.

Jon was a good kid. Nice, and also fairly smart.

He and Pycelle had tossed a coin for set one, and Tyrion still swore the older man had cheated. There shouldn't have been a huge ability gap between sets one and two, but some of the kids, dear _god_ they were slow.

That was why he valued kids like Jon, who did give off the impression that he actually had the faintest idea what was going on. Slightly, anyway.

As he shut down his laptop, Tyrion groaned at the thought of the horrific amount of marking he had in store for tonight. The class had done a progress test last week, and his year sevens had just done their basic test to get a measure of their ability. And the year elevens, god – the head of department had ordered them to be set at least two past papers a week, in order to prepare them for their exams at the end of the year. Tyrion had argued that to be inhumane, to no avail.

His complaint was mainly for selfish reasons though; he physically sagged at the prospect of reading through all the kids who still thought ionic and covalent bonding were the same thing. And _he'd _get the shit for it, when they all failed their exams. _Best school in the area my arse, _he thought darkly as he left the room.

The only thought that graced his brain as he descended down the stairs was of the sandwich that awaited him in the canteen. Jaime would've saved him a seat, and they could both moan about how much they hated all their pupils.

But those happy dreams were shattered with the shout from just around the corner.

"There he is, the little prick!" It was a boy's voice, but not one Tyrion knew, and it was obviously furious, which didn't fill Tyrion with any joy. Now he'd have to go sort out the fight, and it'd take all break, and he would never get to eat that sandwich.

"Robb, no!" A girls scream came, high pitched and desperate. _Oh dear god, _thought Tyrion, _I'm not cut out for the physical side of breaking up fights. _He debated turning around and pretending he'd never heard it, but he was also kind of intrigued. He wanted to know what was going on.

He rounded the corner to meet the sight. The first thing that caught his eye was the unmistakeable golden locks of his nephew. _Of course Joffrey's involved. _Tyrion was pleased to see his brother was already there; he wouldn't be getting a nice sandwich either. Jaime's arms were wrapped around the shoulder of a teenage boy with auburn hair, who was trying to struggle away from him. Jon was trying to help Jaime, not to much effect; he was smaller than the boy he was trying to restrain.

Tyrion realised the ginger boy must be Robb Stark, Jon's brother. He'd never met the boy before, but Jaime had spoken grudgingly of his talent for rugby.

Joffrey was laughing. "I've done nothing Stark, your sweet sister will tell you." He said, and Robb only struggled all the harder.

"I don't normally hit little boys," the Stark boy hissed, "but I'll make an exception for you." Joffrey continued to laugh mockingly, knowing he wouldn't be harmed; Stark would never get near him. Tyrion considered going to help Jaime and Jon, but decided against it when he realised the only remotely helpful thing he could do was hold on to the boy's leg, which would just be downright humiliating. He'd rather see Joff beaten up.

Jaime cast him an exasperated look, as if to say '_bloody kids, wanting to kill each other all the time'. _

"Robb, please don't." A younger girl at Joffrey's side pleaded, looking as if she were about to cry. Must be Sansa Stark, she too had the ginger curly hair from her mother.

Robb gave her a furious glance, whilst yelling: "Get the hell off me; I'm gonna fucking kill him!" Luckily, more of Jon's friends appeared to help him, one of which was much bigger than Robb Stark, and held him back easily.

In the midst of all the shouting, and the excited chatters of the gathering crowd of onlookers, Mace Tyrell managed to find the centre of the action. He looked terrified at first, which Tyrion found rather amusing, and wondered if the headmaster was going to aid in holding back the Stark boy. That would've been more fun to watch.

But no, he made a beeline for the other boy. "Go to your next lesson Joffrey. I'll put a stop to this." Tyrion chuckled at the thought of Mace Tyrell physically preventing Robb Stark from hitting Joffrey. How long that would last, Tyrion was willing to bet it was under the time it took him to eat a good sandwich.

"All of you, to your next lessons!" Tyrell shouted, and the students sloped off, grumbling that the fight had never actually happened. Not that it would've been very exciting. Joff might have been taller, but Stark would've had him in seconds.

After the corridor had cleared and Joffrey was long gone, Robb Stark was finally released. He still looked thunderous, and opened his mouth to yell at his restrainers, before being cut off by the principal.

"Stark. What's this about?" The man asked, curtly.

"He hit my sister!" Robb seethed. "I'm gonna get him, and after that, I wouldn't expect him in school again." The boy seemed completely oblivious to the fact that making death threats to the son of the most powerful man in Westeros wasn't the best idea he'd ever had. Also that Joffrey had a whole lot of friends that were much larger than Robb Stark, and mostly older too. _The boy's an idiot, _Tyrion thought.

"I'm sure the story has just become exaggerated." Mace Tyrell said. "Joffrey and your sister most probably had a little disagreement that has been spun out of proportion. It will be nothing to worry about."

It was not only Robb that looked at him incredulously after that. Even Tyrion's brother looked a little pissed.

"So you're not going to do anything about it?" Jon asked, aggressively.

"I think the situation would be best left alone." Tyrell responded, with a small smile that showed how well he thought he was dealing with the situation.

"Are you kidding me?" Robb hissed. "MY SISTER IS ELEVEN YEARS OLD AND SOMEONE HAS SAID SHE'S GETTING BEATEN UP BY HER BOYFRIEND AND YOU'RE NOT EVEN GOING TO LOOK INTO IT?" His voice had turned to a roar. Tyrion grimaced, knowing his sweet sister had mace Tyrell in her pocket. He'd never make a move against her son.

Tyrion groaned internally as Tyrell tried to put his hands on Robb's shoulder. What was he trying to do, comfort him? "You better calm down son. Now, if you'll just come back to my office, I think we have some things to talk about…" The head was abruptly cut off when the Stark boy shoved his hand off his shoulder angrily. He looked his principal right in the eye and poured all the venom possible into his words.

"Fuck off."

And with that, he turned and stormed off.

Jon tried to follow him, but Jaime stopped him. "Let him cool down." Tyrion's brother advised.

Tyrion had been amused by Mace's astonished expression of horror as one of his students had confronted him in such a manner, but now seemed to have regained his idiotically pompous manner. "Dreadful boy, I must say. I shall have to do something about that, yes. He could've seriously injured someone if he had not been restrained."

Jon looked incredibly pissed, but unlike his brother, he managed to rein his tongue in, instead settling for glaring daggers at the head.

"You three better go back to lessons." Tyrell said, indicating Jon and his friends. "I don't want to hear any more of this." He turned to go, taking his entourage of wimpy secretaries with him. Tyrion knew he'd probably made the best decision for him, but the Starks would be furious. He'd not gained any friends from this, only protected himself from Cersei's wrath.

Tyrion stopped Jon as he left, indicating his friends to go on. "What happened?" He asked the boy.

Jon sighed. "I'm not too sure really. I think someone must've mentioned to Robb that Joffrey had been hitting Sansa, and being Robb, he hit the roof and went straight to find him and beat him to death." His face was sombre, but Tyrion could tell he was just as angry as his brother. After all, Sansa was his sister too, and they both had the Stark blood coursing through their veins, which often seemed to be the course of such terribly hot tempers. Slow minds too, unfortunately.

"Do you think Joffrey has hit Sansa?" Tyrion frowned. His nephew was a vindictive little boy, and he wouldn't put it past him, but surely he couldn't be so idiotic as to harm his father's best friend's daughter?

"She has a bruise under her eye." Jon explained. "She told us she'd fallen and hit it on the edge of a desk in science." His eyes darkened. "I guess not."

"Maybe he did." Tyrion said. "But your brother's way of dealing with it wasn't the most effective. You were smart to stop him."

"Oh." Jon said. "I did stop him, yes. But only from dealing with it there. We'll get him later, when there's nobody around to see." Tyrion could see it now. Jon too, was physically shaking with anger. It had just paled next to his brother's yells.

"That's not a good idea Jon." He said, sharply.

"It's not." Jon agreed. "But he damn well deserves it. Sansa and I may not be thick as thieves, but she's my sister and I want to see him with a black eye."

"And then you'll end up in the same situation as your brother." Tyrion replied, calmly. "My repulsive nephew will go unpunished, yes. That's the benefit of being the son of the most intimidating woman in Westeros. You'll have to learn to live with it. Do nothing, and you'll be much better off. Just keep Sansa away from him."

Jon scowled. "Doesn't look like we're going to get much chance now anyway. We probably won't be allowed near the little shit." He paused, checking to see if Tyrion would reprimand him for his language. Tyrion didn't, having never understood the point of putting a few words to one side and calling them offensive. "Anyway, excuse me sir, I've got to get to English." Jon said, waspishly, and strode off down the corridor.

Jaime swaggered up behind his little brother, grinning. "That was exciting wasn't it?" He said. "Sadly though, I fear our dear nephew would've lost that fight if I had not been there to restrain poor vengeful Robb Stark."

Tyrion whistled. "That he would. Now, I've got a free period. Do you want to ditch and go get a sandwich?"

Jaime laughed. "You and your bloody sandwiches. But you know, I might just take you up on that. Cersei'll kill me when she hears I wasn't protecting her son from violent Starks, but I'll live. Let's go."

"I've had enough of Mace Tyrell's voice for one day." Tyrion said.


	7. From The Ritz To The Rubble

**Disclaimer: **GRRM owns everything.

Robb

He was burning with anger. All his rage built up in his head, and he felt as if it was about to explode. The sheer pressure one's fury could cause inside their own cranium was rather interesting, but Robb Stark wasn't thinking about that.

He was picturing the way Joffrey Baratheon's face would look when he split it in two. Right after he'd done the same to Mace Tyrell.

He'd never been so angry in his life. All he saw was red, red, red. And that aching desire to hit someone, something was ever growing. He wasn't even sure where his legs were carrying him, but his instincts were telling him to get away.

One foot in front of the other. That's how he carried on, until he'd shoved his way outside through the fire exit. He was completely alone out here. No one could stop him from doing anything.

That didn't make him sure of what he wanted to do. He wanted to run back inside and find Joffrey, and punch him until his head exploded. He wanted to scream at Mace Tyrell, until he cowered under a desk in fright. He wanted to shout, he wanted to hit something. The more tender side of him wanted to rush and find Sansa, and tell her he'd protect her.

But most of those things, he wasn't quite stupid enough to do, or calm enough. So he settled for hitting something.

His fist smashed straight into the brick wall, and he regretted it instantly. The sound of bones splintering was terrible, and the appearance of his suddenly mutilated knuckles was horrific. But he didn't cry out. He was far too wrathful for that.

Instead he lashed out at a dustbin with his foot, which caused far less damage to him than the wall had. He screamed out curses, whilst cradling his devastated hand.

When he was done, and the thumping in his ears had quietened to a steady thrum, he sat down on the steps in defeat. Sense was pouring back into his thoughts now, and he wanted to scream and curse all over again, but this time at himself.

He'd not really done anything to help Sansa at all. He'd been so blinded by his own need for revenge; he hadn't actually stopped to think about his sister's feelings on the matter. _Stupid, reckless little boy. _He should've at least listened to Jon.

And that last shout at Mace Tyrell. That would come back to bite him, he was sure of it. If not expelled, he would most definitely be excluded. Thinking about it, it wouldn't be too bad. He didn't trust himself to be around Joffrey without repeating the afternoon's events, which would be no help to anybody.

He remembered what Jaime Lannister had said to him. _You've got all the skill, but when was the last time you actually stopped to think about what you're doing? _He knew football was a long way from real life, but the question seemed to apply now. _Stupid, stupid, stupid. Stupid, silly little boy._

He'd known he could beat Joffrey. Throw him to the ground and hurt him, easy. Whether that was the best approach had never occurred to him. _When you make bad decisions, people get hurt. _That had been his target, but his aim had not been so sure. His shot would not hit Joffrey.

His parents wouldn't be pleased. In the moment, he'd been sure they would be proud of him, defending his little sister like he had thought he was doing. He'd thought it was exactly what his father would've done. _Doesn't mean your father would've done the right thing._

He remembered a line from a song, off the Arctic Monkey's CD Jon had bought him last year. _Calm down temper temper, you shouldn't get so annoyed. You're acting like a silly, little boy._ He should've listened to that CD more often. Might have done him some good.

There was his mother too. She'd be so disappointed in him. She'd done a lot for him, over the years, spent over a decade giving him everything. And it had only really taken half an hour for him to throw it all back in her face. She'd smile and forgive him eventually, like she always did. But he knew he'd never done anything like this before.

_You didn't even land a punch, but you've landed yourself right in it. _Joffrey's father would be furious, which would create more trouble for his father at work. Sansa would be outcast by everyone she knew. _One stupid decision, and you've ruined everything. _

But there was just so much _pressure. _

_You're good at rugby Robb, you push for captain. You'll take over your father's job one day Robb, you need good grades. You need to be just as smart as Jon Robb. Look after your little siblings Robb, you're the oldest. You're not a little boy Robb, don't be so stupid._

He'd been trying. He'd tried to look after his little siblings. He'd tried to be as smart as Jon too, but there was only so much he could do; natural ability usually came out on top. He had no cause for complaint, he knew.

Jon had been shunned and overlooked his whole life. Jon had never had a mother. He deserved to be smarter than Robb, and Robb didn't usually mind. He had everything he wanted.

But he didn't want his father's job. He didn't want to sit under Joffrey Baratheon one day, pretending he cared about the company. He wasn't cut out for that. He was cut out for anything else. Anything other than taking orders from the little shit of a Baratheon.

He sighed. Wallowing in his troubles wasn't making them any better, neither was it making his hand hurt any less. _You're being a whiney little shit. _The voice sounded suspiciously like Jon's, and it made him smile.

So he got up, and considered his options. He wasn't going back into school, not now. He could just remain here, on this step, until the end of the day. Jon would come and look for him, he knew. Jon wouldn't shout at him for what he'd done.

If he'd been braver, he would've waited outside Sansa's class, to apologise. But he wasn't braver, and didn't think he was prepared to face his sister. She'd not be angry, he knew. Only scared. She was only eleven.

He could leave. Climb the gates and walk home, to face his mother's wrath. No. He wasn't brave enough for that, either. He wanted someone beside him when that came to pass, preferably Arya. She was most likely to understand his decision, he thought.

So he stayed on the step, waiting for Jon. Until his silence was interrupted by none other than Jaime Lannister. Robb shoved his hand behind his back instantly. He was embarrassed by it, and didn't think he could face Lannister's mocking laugh.

"The lone wolf." The teacher smiled, sitting down next to Robb. "Do you intend to sit here all day? Or just until winter comes?" He chuckled at his own joke. Robb ignored him, and only looked down at his feet. If Lannister had come to take him for punishment from Tyrell, he could get on with it.

The teacher took out a sandwich, and began to eat it, and for a while, that was how they stayed. Robb staring down at the floor, whilst the older man chewed on the six inch Italian. The wind whistled around them, and autumn leaves floated lazily on the breeze. Everything was quiet, apart from the rhythmic motion of the teacher's jaw.

It seemed almost a full round of the clock had passed when the peace was broken. "Do you still want to beat my nephew to a pulp?" The teacher asked, almost nonchalantly.

Robb raised his gaze to make eye contact, and suddenly had the urge to talk to someone about it. "In hindsight, it probably wasn't my best idea." He said, ruefully. The Lannister laughed.

"Aye, I wouldn't say so. My sister will be on the warpath. Joffrey's her golden boy; she won't be pleased to hear you've struck out against him."

"Not that I did much striking out." Robb replied. "She might not get chance to make war on me; most likely my parents will have my head on a spike as soon as I get home." Both of them chuckled at that.

"Did you bulldoze your knuckles on purpose? Or was it a slip of the hand?" Lannister asked, lightly. Robb was surprised. He'd thought he was managing to keep it well hidden. "You should probably get that checked out, soonish." The teacher said, dryly.

"I couldn't hit Joffrey, so I decided a wall would do instead." He said. "Don't tell anyone, my reputation will be ruined."

The other man snorted. "How? Robb Stark can't tell the difference between a little golden-haired twelve year old and the science block wall?"

"Just so." Robb grinned, in spite of himself. Lannister could be a huge dick at times, but they did seem to have quite a bit in common, really. "I've already embarrassed myself enough for one day."

The teacher only nodded at that.

Robb leaned in, choosing his words carefully. "Sir. I'm going to shit for this." The teacher did not deny it, nor did he need to. "I'll probably be excluded, at least. Tyrell hates me enough already. But my little sister, she'll be staying. And so will my other sister, next year." He paused.

The Lannister cut in. "I'll look after them." He said. "I suppose I am the only one here who's got only measure of control over my nephew. And my brother." Robb smiled. Hopefully his P.E teacher could do a better job of it than him.

"I don't know why you want to help me." He said. "But thank you."

"I don't know either." The teacher replied. "But here I am, suggesting it." He stood up to leave as the bell to end the school day sounded. "Remember this Robb Stark. Remember, next time you try to kill someone."

"Would you have done any different?" Robb asked.

"Isn't that exactly why we're having this conversation?" Jaime said, and with that, he went inside. Robb knew the other man would've done _exactly _the same thing. That was why he hadn't dished out a reprimand. But he hadn't supported him either, not that Robb had expected him too. Joffrey was his family.

But still, as much as the conversation had done to alleviate his anger. It was only rising again as he thought of golden-haired Joffrey Baratheon smirking and laughing as he came out of school. He curled his working fingers into a fist. _Stupid, silly little boy. Don't do anything reckless._

**A/N: **This was unbelievably fun to write, I apologise for how hugely angsty Robb got… I always thought he and Jaime were similar, Jaime just lacks the honour. In the books, they're both great military commanders, just a bit rash in the politics area.


	8. Another Day In Paradise

**Disclaimer: **GRRM owns everything.

Gendry

Gendry groaned as he looked up at the tall houses surrounding him. He was hopelessly lost. Even worse, lost in the rich district. Here, the dwellings were huge and decorative, and the residents were pompous and aloof. At least, that's what he'd heard.

He'd just moved over from the poorest part of Westeros City – Flea Bottom. Flea Bottom was in the east of the city, right next to a huge gated community called The Red Keep. This place was nothing compared to The Red Keep, but still, it intimidated Gendry.

In the town he had moved from – King's Landing – the rich didn't have much interaction with the working class, as they hid behind those huge steel gates. Gendry had rarely been in contact with snobbish teenagers from Westeros High in the middle of the city.

But now, that had all changed. His foster father had said he didn't want him anymore. Gendry wasn't sure why he'd ever wanted him in the first place, but still, he was upset. Tobho Mott hadn't been a cosy father, but he'd given Gendry a place to sleep, food, clothes, everything a father should give, in Gendry's mind.

He'd helped Tobho out in his forge. Blacksmithing wasn't done so often nowadays, but it hadn't taken Tobho long to realise Gendry had a knack for it. It had been nice in the forge. Hot, and sparks flying everywhere, but there was almost a comfortable silence between the two of them as they worked. Gendry missed it.

When Tobho had told him he didn't want him anymore, he'd had nowhere to go. So it had been to the foster home. That had meant moving to the other side of the city – here. The Northern District of Westeros was much quieter than King's Landing, which Gendry didn't complain of.

But his room smelt funny, the water in the shower was always cold, and he had to padlock all his stuff in their cupboards. If he didn't, it wouldn't be there in the morning. Worst of all, was the school move. Westeros High wasn't really a posh school, but it was a big jump from Flea Bottom High, where the kids played football with the teacher's lunch.

He sighed. There was no way he was going to ask anyone around here how to get back to the children's home. They'd only look down on him in disdain, he knew it.

It didn't help that this road was a dead end, he could see. It ended at a gate to a large wood, which looked very dark and uninviting, even though it was only quarter to three. He checked the road sign. _Winterfell Drive. Even the name sounds posh. _

Just for something to do, he walked to the end of the road, and peered into the wood. Wolfswood, the sign said. Gendry had no particular fondness for wolves, so decided he wouldn't be going in. Of course, there couldn't be wolves in there. Gendry was just looking for excuses to not go in other than the fact that the closely packed trees made him feel uncomfortable.

The wind almost seemed to whistle and echo in the forest, like the trees were speaking to one another. It had an eerie feel to it, one that made Gendry shiver. _You're such an idiot, _he thought to himself. _You're getting creeped out by some trees. _He laughed at himself, if nervously.

He looked up at the house next to the wood. The house at the end of the road was grander than the others, and bigger too. There was a little gate in front of the little path that led up to the little steps. And then there was a huge door, with a shiny silver knocker in the shape of a little wolf. _Unbelievable, _he thought to himself. _There are children starving in Africa, and these people spend their money on little shaped knockers._

He was about to turn back the way he had come, when something slammed full force into his back. He was knocked off balance, and almost went crashing down on to his face. "Watch it!" He said, angrily, turning around to spot the culprit.

"You could've been looking where you were going!" Came the heated reply. Surprisingly, it came from the mouth of a little girl; she couldn't have been more than eight years old. A little boy stood beside her, even younger. The girl was so small, Gendry marvelled at how she had managed to upset his balance so much. He was twice her size, and then some.

"My back was turned!" He argued, indignantly. _Arguing with an eight year old. Well done Gendry. _

Slowly, her face tilted into a knowing grin. "Because you were staring at our house." She said, cheerfully. "There's nothing else down here, unless you feel like venturing into the Forbidden Forest." Gendry relaxed a little at her casual manner, but still, he didn't want these kids going in and telling their rich parents that they had a stalker.

"I wasn't!" He said, quickly. "I got lost, and, I… uh… was just looking around." She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Whatever." She said, finally. Her brother turned to enter the house, but she stayed. "Are you looking for Jon, or Robb?" She asked.

"Who?" He'd never heard either of those names in his life.

She looked confused for a second as well. "My brothers. You look about the same age; I thought you might be friends with one of them. Clearly not." She studied his face for a second. "I don't actually think I've ever seen you around here before." She said.

"I… I just moved here." He said, hoping she wouldn't ask where. "From King's Landing." He took care not to specify _where _in King's Landing.

"You new to the school here as well?" She asked.

"Uh… yeah." He said. "I'm starting next week."

Her face broke into a smile. "Come in!" She said, cheerfully. "I'll introduce you to my brothers, you can have some friends for your first day!" She swung the gate open carelessly, laughing as it clanged into the wall.

He balked immediately. "Uh… no, it's okay." He said, as quickly and as politely as possible. "I really should be getting home…"

"Oh shut up." She said, brightly. "You don't have to be scared! Please, I'm so bored; no one interesting ever comes to our house anymore!" _No one poor either, I bet_, he thought. _I'm to become a funny dancing monkey for the little rich kid's entertainment._

But she persisted, and eventually, he found himself standing inside the hall of a huge house, next to a girl he didn't even know the name of.

As predicted, the house was humongous inside. The staircase swept up to the next floor(s), with ornate patterning on the handrail. The left side of the entire ground floor was all room, an open plan lounge-dining room-kitchen. She had only taken him inside the first room, and he already felt hugely out of place.

"Mum!" She shouted, and Gendry noticed a woman in the kitchen, with a little boy clinging on to her legs. "This is… what's your name?" She asked, quickly.

He gulped. "Gendry." He resisted the urge to call her m'lady. That would've just been embarrassing for both of them

"This is Gendry Mum!" She said, triumphantly. "He's starting at Westeros High next week."

To his surprise, the girl's mother brought her gaze to him with a warm expression on her face. "Hello Gendry! And Arya, what have I told you about shouting when I'm in the same room? Gendry will think we're complete baboons!" She laughed, but Gendry noticed she looked strained, as if something was worrying her.

"Sorry Mum!" Arya whispered, grinning.

Arya. Gendry wasn't sure if it was a posh name or not, really. But then, he wouldn't. He didn't know anyone posh. Not until now, anyway.

Arya waved him over to the sofas, which were huge leather monsters in Gendry's eyes. "Say hi Bran." She chided, talking to the little boy she had been stood outside with.

The boy looked up and smiled. "I'm Bran." He said, happily. "Nice to meet you. I promise we're not all so forward." He laughed, and Arya punched him playfully in the back of the neck. Gendry wanted to laugh, but he didn't feel comfortable enough doing so.

It was incredibly strange to watch. It was all so alien to him. He'd never had a family like this. Lots of siblings and a mother that told you when bedtime was and not to forget to brush your teeth. Joking around and poking fun at each other. A sudden wave of longing overcame him. He was enormously jealous of these people.

What he wouldn't give for even a tenth of what they had.

He heard voices outside, and it seemed Arya had heard it too, because her head snapped around, The action was so violent, Gendry was fearful her neck may snap. But he thought Arya might be the type of person who always moved like that. Quickly, and dangerously. Which sounded a bit weird to say, really.

"That'll be Jon and Robb now!" She announced, excitedly. "Come on!" And before he knew it, she had dragged him outside into the hall, to wait for her brothers like a mother waits for her children. He felt increasingly uncomfortable with it. He didn't want to be friends with these boys. They were going to be smart and cool and popular, rich and snarky and funny.

They'd want to know where he was from, and they'd laugh at him once they knew. Arya's younger siblings might have been accepting, but he knew how it was with kids his age. At Flea Bottom, if anyone had a go, he'd have hit them in the face. If anyone here had a go, and he responded similarly, he'd probably find himself facing a court case and subsequently, a huge fine.

He tried to tell Arya, tried to tell her he wanted to go. But he stopped, because where would he go? There was no way to avoid her brothers now. They were right outside the door, he could hear them. He could hear the key in the door, and he felt sick. He was so anxious. He'd never experienced this kind of intimidation before, and he hated it. He had to get out of here, as soon as possible.

The door crashed open, and the first brother came in. "Robb!" Arya greeted him, enthusiastically. "This is…" But she never got a chance to finish. Gendry was hugely taken aback (but also relieved) as Arya's brother shoved past her, and stormed up the stairs. He was almost sprinting, and Gendry noticed how he was holding his hand awkwardly under his jacket. He knew about hand injuries – he'd had plenty working in the forge. It took a while to get the hang of a hammer.

The next brother seemed significantly less intimidating after that. He was panting as he ran into the house, his face red. "Have you seen him?" He asked.

Arya opened her mouth to reply, but before she got the words out, her mother had cut in. "Jon!" She shouted sharply, striding into the hallway. "Where is he?" Jon just pointed, up the stairs. He must've figured that one out.

"Right." Arya's mother gritted her teeth, and up she went.

Only then, did Gendry take a proper look at Arya's other brother, Jon. He looked as much like her as Bran her mother and Robb didn't. The same brown hair, the same steely grey eyes. They were both smaller and skinnier too, he doubted he'd be seeing Jon much on the rugby field.

"What's happening?" Arya demanded from her brother.

He sighed, his breath now returned. "To cut a long story short, Joffrey hit Sansa, so Robb tried to kill him."

Arya gaped at him. "Tried?"

Jon nodded. "Was break, he couldn't get near him. No one would let him." His eyes came to rest on Gendry, who tried to look less like an intruder. "Hello." Jon said. "I don't believe we've met before."

Arya leapt in for the introductions. "This is Gendry. He's going to be in your year at school."

Jon smiled. "Nice to meet you Gendry. I apologise for my brother. He's not usually like that, but he won't even talk to me right now. In fact, usually he's more entertaining than me, but don't tell him I said that."

Gendry smiled awkwardly, and then cringed as the friendly air was broken.

"ROBB! WHAT ON EARTH HAVE YOU DONE?" Gendry recognised Arya's mother's voice. _I've walked right in on a family drama. Excellent. _"TO GET A CALL FROM YOUR PRINCIPAL IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY SAYING YOU TRIED TO KILL SOMEONE FOR NO REASON!"

Gendry had thought Jon was exaggerating, but clearly not. He'd expected his reluctance to meet Robb to increase, but really, he respected him. The guy had been sticking up for this Sansa girl, who he guessed was their sister.

"YOU DO REALISE THIS BOY IS YOUR FATHER'S BOSS' SON? YOU COULD'VE RUINED HIS ENTIRE CAREER!" Gendry wondered if Arya's mother knew the whole story. Was Arya's brother even trying to defend himself? Maybe he was doing it quietly.

Gendry realised he'd been wrong there, when the next roar echoed down the stairs. "I DIDN'T DO IT FOR NO BLOODY REASON, HE HIT SANSA! OR DID MY _PRINCIPAL _NOT TELL YOU THAT?" There was silence for a few seconds, and then came a horrified scream.

"WHAT IN SEVEN HELLS HAVE YOU DONE TO YOUR HAND?" The screams was less angry now, more worried. Gendry was pleased to see he'd been right about Arya's brother's hand, even if that wasn't so great for Arya's brother.

"WE'RE GOING TO THE HOSPITAL!"

Arya turned instantly to Jon. "What _did _he do to his hand?" She asked, looking fairly excited, really. Gendry supposed this _wasn't _just a normal day for her family, contradictory to what he might have first thought.

But Jon looked just as confused as her. "I don't know…" He bit a nail off, absentmindedly. "That must be why he kept if under his jacket all the way home…" He frowned. "He never got near Joffrey; I don't see how he could've done it."

The sound of feet on the stairs came quickly, and thunderously. Within seconds, Arya's mother and brother were at the top of the ones they could see. They all stared up at them, trying to see what Arya's brother might have done to his hand.

They weren't disappointed.

Arya's mother looked fierce, and Gendry was glad for a minute that he didn't have a mother. She looked downright terrifying. Clamped in her grasp, iron tight, he expected, was her son's arm, and the hand at the end of it.

His knuckles were messed up. There was bone sticking through the skin in one place, and they were crusted with dried blood. They looked completely obliterated; he must've shattered the rest of the bones in his knuckles. Gendry hoped he'd never had any dream of becoming a famous boxer.

It was kind of gross actually.

Arya's brother himself, he looked just as terrifying. He was not as tall or as muscled as Gendry, but he was much bigger than Jon, easily. But his face, it was white as a sheet. He must've been in a tremendous amount of pain. But his eyes, they burned as brightly as his hair, despite them being blue.

Gendry could imagine this boy killing somebody. He looked so angry. He looked like he could very well break down a wall right now. That didn't stop him from being dragged out of the front door by his mother, and into the car.

The room was silent after they had gone. Bran had come out to look too, and he was gaping as well. The baby Gendry had seen with Arya's mother was crying he could hear it through the wall. All the shouting had probably scared him. Not that Gendry was going to be the first to run and comfort him.

"Wow." Arya said, finally. She had voiced the thoughts of everyone else in the room. He'd never seen something so heated before, except when he'd accidentally watched ten minutes of Coronation Street, thinking it was a newsflash. He'd never known before that a tram could jump forty metres to the end of a street.

"That hand…" Bran said. "It was like something off Casualty."

"When have you been watching Casualty?" Jon asked, momentarily forgetting about his awe.

Bran shrugged. "It was just on." The four of them lapsed into silence again, listening quietly to Rickon's screams from the kitchen.

"I'll go sort him out." Bran said, quickly, and left the room. Gendry envied his viable excuse to get away from the tension. He didn't want to break the awkward silence, but he really wanted to leave. Right now. He'd seen enough family drama in the last five minutes to make him realise he'd rather not have a family. It almost seemed as if the whole thing had been a lesson.

"Dad will be home soon." Arya said. "Then we can go to the hospital and see what's up. After we've questioned Sansa, of course." Gendry could already see the plan forming in her mind. "I want to know what that pig-lipped creep has really been doing."

Jon nodded, then looked at Gendry, apologetically. "I'm sorry you had to see that." He said. "I promise we're not always like this. But I'll look out for you on Monday, you don't seem too bad." He tried to lighten the mood, but his smile was plastic, and Gendry couldn't really conjure up one of his own. He was still shell-shocked.

"Thanks." He mumbled, in response.

Arya let him out of the house. She didn't bother to apologise, as he'd known she wouldn't. He'd only known her for half an hour really, but he could glimpse that much about her. She wouldn't apologise for things outside of her control.

"See you later." She said, the ghost of a smile on her lips. "Try not to have nightmares."

He did chuckle at that. "I'll try." He replied, and she shut the door.

Gendry walked away, slowly, with one last look at the huge house. He really hoped he wouldn't be coming back there anytime soon.


	9. I'll Stand By You

**Disclaimer: **GRRM owns everything.

Bran

As soon as Ned Stark opened the door, he was accosted by his three youngest and Jon, all shouting and clambering for information. They'd yet to see Sansa, Bran had noticed. She must have been hiding somewhere, avoiding them.

"Dad, we have to go to the hospital!" Arya's voice prevailed above the rest.

Ned looked taken aback. "Why? Has one of your dogs gone feral?"

Arya rolled her eyes. "No!" She said, irritated. "Hasn't mum _told _you?" She looked hugely exasperated, reflecting exactly how Bran felt.

"Told me what?" Ned asked, confused. "Where are Robb and Sansa in all this?"

"Well if you'd just listen…" Arya moaned.

They had their father's attention then, and he sat down in the lounge, looking expectant. Jon had actually been present, so it fell to him to begin the story.

"…And then he told Tyrell to f off and stormed out." Jon finished, deliberately not swearing in front of their father. Ned looked shocked. Bran and Arya were fairly surprised too; they'd not really heard any of the story before, particularly not that detail.

Ned groaned, putting his head in his hands. "Oh Robb." He moaned. But then his head snapped up again. "Did you say Joffrey _hit _Sansa?" He hissed. Jon nodded. Ned's expression altered instantly. "She's eleven years old!" He seethed. "I'm not bloody surprised- sorry kids." He tried to calm his tone. "I'm rather proud of him." He admitted. "Though I don't know if he picked the best way of going about it."

Bran grinned. He wished he'd been there to see it, really. He would've liked to see his older brother scream at Joffrey. "How did he do his hand though?" Bran asked. "If he didn't hit Joffrey?"

"Yes, who's in hospital?" Ned looked alarmed. "Is it Sansa? Are the bruises really that bad? We have to go right now!" He tried to get up. Arya shoved him back down, shaking her head.

"It's not Sansa, she's not home yet."

"Then where is she? She could be getting beaten up even more right this second, we've got to find her!" Ned said. "I'll ring her!"

But before he could scroll down to Sansa's name on the contact list, Take That's Rule The World started to play, and loudly. Ned looked at his kids guiltily, who all had their eyebrows raised. "Shut up." He hissed, and put the phone to his ear.

The kids leaned in, and thankfully, the person on the other end had quite a loud voice.

"Ned! What in seven hells has your son…" Robert Baratheon started, but didn't get very far.

"Not now Robert." Ned snapped, and with that, he ended the call. Immediately he continued scrolling down his contacts and Bran wanted to cheer. Robert Baratheon had his father do everything. They might be friends, but Sansa was definitely more important right now.

Within seconds, he was dialling her number, and the phone was buzzing. Everyone was tense, wondering if Sansa would be sobbing when she picked up the phone, or if they would be able to hear the sound of a slap.

The phone kept buzzing, but Ned didn't give up. On and on and on and on. Maybe Joffrey wasn't even letting Sansa pick up the phone? What if she was seriously hurt somewhere? What if…?

"Dad?"

Instantly, the atmosphere in the room abated as everyone let out a collective sigh. Sansa sounded a little nervous and confused, but otherwise, unharmed.

"Sansa. Where are you?" Ned said, his voice still slightly strained.

"Dad, jeez, turn around, look out the window." Sansa replied, slightly exasperated, Bran could tell. But they all turned towards the window.

It only took them a few moments to notice Sansa. She was in the house across the street, waving to them from the window. Bran almost laughed. They'd been worrying about her being in Joffrey's clutches, when really; she was a few steps outside the front garden at Jeyne's house.

"Sansa, I'm coming to get you." Ned said. "It's time to come home now." His tone was slightly sharp, but gentle. None of them knew exactly what had happened to Sansa, and would treat her with caution until they did.

Bran knew Sansa normally would have argued, but she must've deciphered Ned's tone as well. She had to have realised that he knew, there was no way she could think he wouldn't. Bran wondered if she ever would have told them. If not for a stray whisperer, would she have continued to take the slaps? She'd been so obsessed with Joffrey at the start, was she really that deluded?

Ned kept Sansa on the phone as he marched across the road to the Poole's' house, and returned two minutes later, holding her firmly by the arm. "Right!" He ordered. "Everybody into the car! We're going to the hospital!"

Arya shoved past Bran to grab the front seat, which annoyed him, but reluctantly, he clambered into the back next to Sansa. Jon was holding Rickon on his knee, as he couldn't really be left alone, but there was nowhere to seat him.

Ned pulled out of the drive swiftly, and immediately turned his attention to his oldest daughter thereafter. "Is it true?" He insisted. "Did Joffrey hit you?" Ned Stark was not one for wavering around. He would get straight to the point.

Sansa immediately looked terrified, and she seemed to struggle to get the words out. She lingered, biting her lip. Then it all came pouring out, in a torrent of teary terror (which Bran thought was excellent alliteration, his literacy teacher would've approved). "…Oh he did Dad! He did! But I was so scared to say, because he told me he'd hurt me more if I did! Don't tell anyone Dad, please, don't any of you tell anyone, he'll be so angry! Please…" A sob escaped her, and then the tears began to run down her cheeks.

Bran didn't really know how to help, and neither did Jon, he could see. But they both tried, putting their arms around their sister, whilst fuming at Joffrey internally. Bran was especially annoyed Robb hadn't got to land a punch. He would've liked to of seen what Joffrey had looked like with two black eyes.

Ned's expression softened, and then hardened. Bran could see his steely eyes in the driver's mirror, he knew how angry he was. "He won't ever hurt you again Sansa, I swear it! He won't even come near you again! I'll kill the little shit if he tries!" His voice rose to a shout, and Sansa cringed.

Ned immediately realised what he'd done. "Sorry! I'm sorry; I didn't mean to scare you. Or swear." He hit the steering wheel. "Gods, I'm in no place to reprimand your brother, am I?" Bran could see him marvelling at himself.

"But I will sort this out Sansa, I promise. You don't ever have to be scared of him again." Ned said, more tenderly. Sansa sniffled and nodded, and a smile broke through the tears, a grateful smile. _Sansa will believe anything, _Bran thought. _It's going to be a lot harder to sort out than he's making it seem._

After that, they drove in silence, but Bran and Jon didn't remove their arms from around Sansa's shoulders. Bran felt good doing it. It almost felt like he was helping, in his own way, even if it wasn't much. He'd have liked Sansa to do the same for him.

When they finally arrived at the hospital, Ned leaped straight out of the car and came around to Sansa. He put his arms tight around her, pulling her close to his chest. "No one's ever going to hurt you again, my daughter." He said. That gesture made Bran feel glad, as he often did, that he had the parents that he did. Surely no one else could love anyone as much as Ned and Catelyn Sark loved their children

As they walked up to the reception, Ned kept an arm around Sansa's shoulders, almost as a way of protecting her. Bran knew he'd have his eye on her for a while.

They walked up to reception, and Bran's father asked for Stark, which luckily, they recognised. The receptionist seemed to have a particularly vivid recollection of the remaining two Starks: "Oh my God, that was like, so gross! Did you see the way his bone was sticking through his hand! Ergh! I'll be having nightmares for weeks!" She told them, though nobody had asked her.

"Yes, thank you." Ned cut her off, impatiently. "Which room are they in?"

"He might still be in surgery, like, I'm not sure." The receptionist said. Bran marvelled at how she managed to speak like that, all the time, without fail. "But you can wait outside, I think it's room 11b, in the west wing."

Ned thanked her again, and they were off, Arya and Bran running ahead excitedly, and Rickon crying, as usual. "Do you think he'll have to have it amputated?" Arya asked, eyes as wide as saucers.

"Don't be so stupid!" Bran countered. "But I bet he'll never write again!"

Jon laughed at them. "No more rugby for Mr Fantastic." He chuckled. "What on earth is Theon the dickhead going to do?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Jon!" Ned chastised. "Language!" It was unfortunate that their seemed to have recovered his sense enough to start reprimanding swear words again. Bran had been quite excited by the new ways open to him. Jon grinned sheepishly, and hoisted Rickon further up his hip.

"You're all being silly anyway." Ned said, knowingly. "They're going to give him a hand transplant. He'll be like Beast from the X men." Arya and Jon laughed, but Bran was indignant.

"Beast has weird feet, Dad! There's nothing different about his hands! At least, not until he turns completely blue…" Bran took his X men very seriously. Beast was one of his favourites too, which no one else had ever understood. Typically, Robb favoured Wolverine, whilst Jon was a stout fan of Professor X. Sansa, who claimed she didn't like the X men, fawned over Iceman, and Arya adored Mystique. Rickon, of course, had no idea what was going on.

When they arrived at the waiting room, they found their mother already there, tapping her foot nervously. As soon as she saw them, she sprung up, worry in her eyes. "Sansa!" She cried, running to embrace her daughter. "Is it true? Oh darling, are you alright?" She hugged Sansa, perhaps even more fiercely than her husband had.

"I'm okay Mum." Sansa said. "Dad's going to stop him." She told her. Catelyn smiled, if sadly.

"Thank goodness. But he will face punishment for this, I promise you. He won't touch you again."

"No Mum, you don't have to…" Sansa began feebly, but gave up, when she saw how determined her mother looked. She couldn't win, no way in hell.

"Do you have any bruises?" Arya asked, in a loud, intrigued whisper.

"Arya!" Catelyn scolded. "I'm sure Sansa doesn't want to…"

"Yes." Said Sansa, cutting her off. "It's on my belly, it's huge. All purple and blue and yellow. Do you want to see?" She almost grinned, and Bran laughed internally, knowing Sansa was going to be okay. She knew her family would support her, and she seemed to have accepted that she was safe.

Arya nodded, and Sansa lifted up her school shirt. Sure enough, the bruise was large, and very painful looking. Catelyn gasped, and went to hold her daughter again. "Oh my poor girl!" She said. "It's over now." She soothed, stroking Sansa's hair, as she often did.

"Yes Mum." Sansa said. "It is. I'll be okay." She hugged her Mum back, and it seemed for a moment that they all forgot that one member of the family was still missing. In surgery, in fact.

Finally, Ned _did _remember. "Robb!" He said. "Why's he in hospital?" He was frowning, and Bran realised they'd never actually got around to that part of the story, having been too worried about Sansa.

Catelyn rolled her eyes. "Oh, don't worry about him. I got the story out of him eventually, he did it to himself_. _The doctor says it will heal fine." Bran caught Jon's eye, and fought the urge to laugh, as he could tell Jon was too. He wasn't quite sure just _how _Robb had managed to mess up his hand _that _badly, but it was funny to think of, anyway.

"No amputation?" Arya asked, almost disappointedly. Everyone laughed. Knowing he was okay, it was alright to imagine a handless Robb trying to put Star Wars in the DVD player, and complaining loudly about the fingerprints on his precious.

"He should be out soon." Bran's Mum said. "He's been in there ages, but I suppose they had to poke the bone back in." She said it very casually, and Ned seemed taken aback, but Bran giggled. Sansa looked horrified, as expected.

"I wish he'd hit Joffrey." She said, bitterly.

"Me too." Said Ned and Catelyn, at the same time, then looked immediately sheepish.

"We need to talk about that." Catelyn said, to her husband. "The school blames him entirely; they've clearly no idea about Sansa…"

"Hush." Ned cut her off. "We'll worry about all that later, after we've seen our son." And then he kissed her, and Arya mimed being sick, whilst Bran loudly expressed his disgust. Then they had to sit and wait, until the doors opened.

It seemed like aeons had passed before the doctor came out. Or it seemed that way to Bran. He could see the clock, which was shaped like a squashed puppy tomato. He watched it tick, ever slower. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. And on it went, until Bran's eyes felt like closing. It'd probably be tomorrow when he woke up.

"He's ready to see you now!" Came a bright voice. Bran started, and looked at the clock. It had been five minutes.

He leaped up, as did the others, and piled through the doorway, which was only really wide enough for one person. But they tried to pile in anyway. "Max three visitors at a time." The nurse tried to say, but Ned waved her away.

"He's not had a heart attack." He said, and she scuttled off under his imposing gaze.

Bran and Arya, being the smallest not trapped in someone's arms, were the first to shove into the room, and the first to spot their brother. He was one of four in the room, the others all teenagers as well. First and foremost, Bran studied his brother's appearance.

He was certainly paler than usual, and his curls messier, but otherwise, he seemed okay. He was wearing one of the spotty hospital night gowns used everywhere, and sporting a huge plaster cast on his right arm. _No essays for him, _Bran thought, jealously.

"Hey!" Robb greeted them, waving at them with his uninjured arm. "Glad you could all… make it." He laughed as they realised how much of the room the Starks now occupied. The other patients had better forget visitors for tonight.

Arya ran in and jumped on the end of her elder brother's bed, ignoring Catelyn's cautions. "You idiot." She said, looking at his plaster cast. Robb grinned, and punched her lightly on the shoulder. He smiled at Bran too, and it was obvious there was no cause for concern here. Robb would bounce straight back, as he always did.

When Sansa came to his bedside, Robb's tone sobered. "I'm sorry…" He began, but Sansa cut him off.

"Thank you so much!" She gushed, and pulled him into a hug. "Thank you for at least trying to stick up for me." She told him. Robb's expression was bemused, but slowly, he smiled and hugged her back.

"We'll get him another time." Jon promised, and Sansa smiled at him too. That made Bran happy. Sansa and Jon barely talked, it was nice to see them getting along. "I'm going to tell everyone." Jon grinned, looking over at Robb.

Robb rolled his eyes. "Well Lannister already knows, so I figured everyone will know _exactly _how I did it. My Wii Fit boxing dreams are shattered!" He sighed, dramatically.

Ned broke through next, clapping his son on the shoulder. "I'm proud of you." He said, happily. "I mean, it's probably the most stupid thing you've done, ever, but I'm still proud of you." Robb grinned.

"Thanks… I guess." He replied.

"Why are you still in bed?" Catelyn demanded, next. "Surely there's nothing wrong with your legs?" Worry lines were etched into her forehead again, as they often were. Bran saw them every time she caught him clambering out his window.

"Relax Mum." Robb sighed. "It's just until the general anaesthetic wears off, though why I needed this stupid gown, I've no idea. Or the general, it was only my hand, I mean seven hellllllllls!"

"Does it have a hole at the back?" Arya asked, with curiosity, as she flicked the thin plastic.

"Yes." Robb moaned. "And I really need the toilet." He dropped his voice to a whisper. "These guys in here are killing me, not a single one will talk to me!" He looked affronted. Bran could tell he'd been given something. He was being very exaggerated with his speech and his movements, which was really quite funny. "And now they probably hate me, because you're taking up the whole room." He sighed.

"You do realise we can all hear you, you know?" A haughty voice from across the room said, belonging to an equally haughty looking girl.

"Can you?" Bran wasn't sure if Robb was pretending to look shocked or not. "And there I was! Thinking you were all deaf! I'm terribly sorry." He grinned lazily. Bran sniggered, as did Arya. Robb wouldn't be nearly this callous normally, and that was a shame, really.

"Robb, behave!" Catelyn chided, though smiling.

"Yes Mother." He replied, obediently. "My Mum's great you know." He told the girl across from him. "You could be really great friends."

"Yes, that's enough." Ned said, hastily, whilst the rest of them struggled not to choke themselves to death. "Put your clothes on Robb, let's go."

Robb looked excited. "Excellent!" He said, brightly. "There aren't any good walls in here for busting my other hand on!"


	10. Bad News

**Disclaimer: **GRRM owns everything.

Eddard

Ned tried his best to concentrate as he pulled into the driveway. It wouldn't do to obliterate his wing mirror on the wall whilst his mind was elsewhere. He'd _known _the driveway was too narrow when they'd moved in, not that he'd made any effort to do anything about it. _God knows what'll happen when Robb and Jon start driving, _he thought.

After he'd parked though, there was no good enough reason to tear his mind away from thoughts he didn't want to think. _I'm going to have to tell them. They'll be so disappointed. They'll all be so worried about what we'll do next. What if the house is repossessed? What if the kids can't go to university? What if… _Ned made a conscious effort to stop himself. Fretting about the outcome would do no good, none at all.

After unlocking it, he shoved his way through the door into the hallway, grunting loudly. It had just been one of those days. Though rather worse than usual.

As normal, he could hear the entire family around the house, already home from school etcetera. The TV was on next door, and Ned knew it would be Bran: he was watching Deadly 60 _again. _Down the hall, pots could be heard clanging in the kitchen, where Catelyn would be cooking, Rickon always nearby. Sometimes some of the kids liked to help, but Ned couldn't hear Cat sounding frustrated, so they most likely weren't helping today. Through the kitchen and out through the French doors, the sound of laughter could be heard, occasionally accompanied by the unmistakeable sound of boot on ball. It was Jon and Arya, playing a strange mix of football, rugby and… rounders?

Ned hung his coat, pushing aside a drifting balloon string. _Robb's birthday was a week ago, and I swear I'm still finding the bloody things in my socks. _Speaking of which, his newly fifteen year old son was clearly home. The strange mix of music pulsing from upstairs could only be a combination of Robb and Sansa's music tastes. Sansa had on some radio show, the one she always had on, which Ned privately thought was vile. He was much more appreciative of Robb's taste.

Ned had been playing his CD's in the car over and over for all of his children's lives, and he was pleased some of them had managed to pick up a little of his own taste. It pleased Ned to hear bands such as Stereophonics, The Strokes, U2 and Franz Ferdinand echoing through the house. Robb had been the most influenced; right now Ned could hear 'The Bartender And The Thief'. But Robb and Arya also shared an appreciation for classic rock, and would sometimes play the same CD to be extra annoying, so no one could get away from it. Jon had branched off a bit, and Ned thought his second son's taste was a little terrifying, to be frank. He seemed to enjoy the sound of screaming, which Ned believed to be awfully frightening and morbid. Arya's favourite was what she called 'pop punk' or 'punk rock' or… Ned didn't even know. He only knew it was preferable to Sansa's chart music. Bran and Rickon were just appreciative of everything, apart from Andre Rieu, which Grandpa Tully found disgruntling.

_I'll tell them at tea, _he decided. _When they're all together. So I don't have to explain it more than once. _They were going to be so disappointed, he knew it. No more comfortable living for the Starks, no. And it was his fault. Well, mostly. But there was no way he was going to tell Robb and Sansa they may have some partial involvement in the situation. There was absolutely no way he was going to place the blame on his kids.

Ned swept into the kitchen, trying to hide the tense set of his shoulders. Cat's face lit up at the sight of his tired smile, and she hurried towards him. "Darling, how was work?" She asked him, after reaching up to plant a gentle kiss on his lips.

He didn't want to lie to her. As he'd come to discover, lying was even harder work than expected, and not something he was fond of doing. With that in mind, he just rolled his eyes to communicate his day, and Cat laughed.

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, we're having Shepherd's Pie tonight." Cat smiled, whilst scooping Rickon into her arms. Ned's favourite meal. It wasn't likely to sweeten his news. Cat turned back to the broccoli she was boiling. "Oh, before I forget, Arya did the Battle of Hastings today and she wants to show off her new knowledge to you. And Robb says there is absolutely no way he can complete his business homework himself. Bran won something at school today that he's very excited about, Sansa has more friendship troubles to discuss, and Rickon wants to watch the next Harry Potter."

Ned groaned theatrically. "Why can't you help with any of those?" He asked.

Catelyn smiled, almost mischievously. "Why dear, I'm doing the cooking!" Her laugh was clear and pretty, and despite his mood, Ned couldn't help but laugh too.

He held his arms out to take Rickon from his wife. "Alright little man." He told his youngest son. "Let's go watch Harry fight the dragon." Rickon squealed in delight.

So Ned sat through the entirety of Harry Potter And The Goblet Of Fire, trying to look as entranced as Rickon was. He'd been through the Harry Potter stage with every single one of his children, and wouldn't be surprised if he could recite every film line for line. Bran had also come in to watch, since he was reading the books and wanted to 'compare'.

After Voldemort had been resurrected and the film was at an end, Ned admired Bran's certificate for being 'the best at science in the class'. He told his son that one day he might invent something amazing, which Bran swelled with pride at. Next would be Sansa, partly because her room was closest.

Ned knocked on the door politely, and opened it when Sansa told him to come in. "What's up sweetheart?" He asked her, sitting down on the bed. And so Sansa proceeded to tell him about Jeyne and Beth and Alice and Sophie and blah blah blah, who were always falling out and telling around nasty things about each other. Ned's head was bleary by the end of her tale, and he was sure at least half of Sansa's friends seemed to have the same name.

"That's very mean of… Beth?" He said, trying to look extremely sympathetic.

"No! Beth was on my side! Weren't you listening?" Cried Sansa, proceeding to repeat the whole story.

The only advice Ned could think of to give was: "Just ignore them." For that, he got a huffy look from Sansa, accompanied by a roll of the eyes. He left quickly after that, apologetic for the lack of help that he'd offered.

Then he had to go all the way up to the attic and shout over Robb's thundering AC/DC. The business homework turned out to be horribly easy; Robb had just been too lazy to think about it. It took almost half an hour for them to complete an A5 sheet, just because they kept arguing about the correct way to spell 'necessary'. In the end, they looked it up and Ned realised he'd been adding an extra 'c', which Robb was triumphant about.

He listened to Arya talk about the Battle Of Hastings, and even applauded her loud re-enactment of the arrow that had gone through King Harold's eye. He even stopped to ask Jon about his running club, and ruffled his hair when his son told him he'd beaten his time for the 300 metres.

After all that Ned flopped on the sofa, groaning. _Sometimes, I really wonder what on earth possessed me to have six children. _But dealing with the Stark kids' troubles was preferable to thinking about his own misfortune. Dinner could only be a few minutes away, and then he'd have to tell them. He'd have to wreck the happy family atmosphere.

Ned seated himself at the head of the table wearily when cat called for tea. Rickon dove next to him excitedly, and Cat on his other side. Arya shot through the door like a bullet, and scrambled to sit on the other end of the table, so she could stare right down the middle. Jon sat next to her, as far away from Catelyn's icy look as he could get, and Robb sat opposite his brother. Sansa and Bran filled the two middle seats, and the family proceeded to eat.

_It's now or never. _

Ned swallowed nervously and cleared his throat. Everyone looked up immediately, and Ned was gratified for the warm respect his children showed to him, even if he doubted it would be so much after what he had to tell them.

"I've got something to tell you all." Ned said, sombrely. "About work." Every single face around the table was alert, studying Ned's expression carefully, anxious as to what he would say next.

_I'm just going to have to say it. _"The company's gone bankrupt." He said, his voice steadier than he'd hoped.

Shock bounced all around the room, and he watched the realisation hit every member of his family one by one. Rickon, only three, just looked confused. Bran's eyes were as wide as saucers; he was a clever little boy, who knew what bankruptcy meant; he played a lot of Monopoly. Jon's face was impassive, as usual, but he seemed slightly paler, and he was very still. That was in direct contrast to Arya's open mouth and Robb's narrowed eyes. _That's his inheritance I've just destroyed. _Sansa had paled, just like her half-brother, and also her Mother, who was looking at her husband in shock.

Ned thought it best just to continue. "Casterly Rock bank intends to bail out Baratheon Industries with a loan, since Tywin Lannister's daughter is married to Robert. But that doesn't include me." Ned swallowed again. If he'd told the full story, that was where he'd have said 'because of the antagonism between Joffrey, Robb and Sansa'. But he wasn't going to say that. "I've been granted half of the old company's staff and assets to try and resurrect the company as my own, but the Lannister's aren't offering me any financial backing."

Cat was the first to speak, her tone angry. "So they've saved Baratheon Industries and kept Robert as CEO, but sacked you? What right do they have to that?"

"I don't know." Ned replied, solemnly. "It was a condition for them to bail out Robert. He wasn't happy about it, but Cersei made the decision for him."

The anger in his wife's eyes was reflected in his eldest son's. Of all their children, Robb seemed the most like his parents, having received an equal split between Ned and Catelyn's personalities. "They've no right!" He seethed. "You should take them to court Dad!" Ned could see Robb resisting the urge to swear loudly and hit the table, which he was grateful for.

"We'd lose." Ned said, calmly. "The Lannisters have enough money to bribe the entire jury in their favour."

"I'll kill them!" Robb exploded. "I'll kill them all!"

"Calm down!" Ned cried, alarmed. "I may have been axed from Baratheon Industries, but there _is _a future for Stark Inc.!"

"How?" Cat asked.

"We get financial backing from somewhere else." Ned explained. "Namely, The Twin Towers bank."

"The Freys?!" Catelyn exclaimed, disgusted. "My Father told me to never trust a Frey!" Her children reflected her disgust.

"I know, I know." Ned said, tiredly. "But they're the only ones who might give us a loan. But because Walder Frey is who he is, he's going to need persuading."

Robb recovered from the shock of the idea and looked serious. "What can we do, Dad?" He asked, earnestly.

"We can flatter them." Ned said, gritting his teeth. He hated weaselling his way around, but it had to be done. "Offer them generous shares when the business is up and running. Act confidently around any Frey, don't give them the option that we might fail. And namely, Walder Frey has a lot of children." He paused. "They Freys aren't popular around here. They're mocked and shunned. If any of you could… date one of them…" His own words made him feel sick.

Bran giggled nervously. "There's Elmar in your class Arya." He snickered. "He's got a lovely weaselly chin. Arya threw a cushion at him. Sansa looked revolted, but his eldest two seemed to be taking the proposition more seriously.

"There's Roslin." Jon said carefully, speaking for the first time. "In our Maths." He looked at Robb. "It'd have to be you though." Robb opened his mouth as if to ask why, before realising the Freys might take Jon as an insult. He wrinkled his nose at the thought.

"She's quite pretty." He admitted. "Very quiet though. I suppose I could… I'll do it." He looked determined. "I'll help save the company."

Ned nodded, never more grateful to his son. "It should work." He said thoughtfully. "Frey will no longer be the laughing stock of Westeros, and he will respect us for that."

He returned to his Shepherd Pie silently. _They cut off the company's head, but we will rise again, _he promised himself. _We will indeed._


End file.
